Playwright
by Inudaughter Returns
Summary: Harold accidentally loses Helga's script for a new school play. Harold, Sid, and Stinky work together to make a replacement for the lost script. But could this possibly be the worst play ever?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Dear readers, I have not been writing (or responding) as much as usual of late because of lots of work. I'm afraid the day job must come first. Please continue to be patient, okay? Thanks everyone! ;)**

Helga hated celery. She stared down at her plate with hate and disgust. Then she opened her mouth wide and complained.

"Dad! All of the things here on this table have celery in them! The tuna sandwich, cripes even the potato salad has celery in it! What is Miriam doing?"

"Hum, ah?" Big Bob Pataki said lifting his dense eyebrow in thought as he chewed open-mouthed on a sandwich. "Oh, yeah, your mother's started a row of celery in my new veggie patch out back. That and lots of tomatoes for tomato juice."

"Well, it's nice that Miriam's getting some sun for a change," said Helga. "But that doesn't mean she has to poison everything we eat with celery!" Helga sniffed as she gestured open-palmed towards her plate.

"Ah, pipe down girl!" Big Bob said without any particular ire. "Just man-up and eat it. It's not like it's the worst thing ever. Oops, that's the timer on my watch going off," said the beefy man looking down at his wristwatch. "It's time to leave for my meeting. See you in a few days."

"But Dad!" Helga sputtered as the man picked up a suitcase and marched for the door. She watched Big Bob depart, then poked her head into the kitchen instead. Her mother was puttering around in the kitchen wearing a big floppy garden hat and gardening gloves. She also wore her usual lilac colored dress. The woman was smiling genuinely for a change.

"Oh hi Helga!" she giggled and waved. Miriam set a basketful of fresh-cut celery on the countertop. "Did you enjoy your lunch?"

"Um, well no!" Helga huffed, looking annoyed but equally as perplexed as she hunched forward. "Mom! I don't like celery! Don't we have anything else to eat?"

"Hm? You're still hungry? Oh, well let me just look in the fridge! Oh why look! I have little celery sticks with peanut butter spread in them just for you! Isn't that nice! Oh and I have some freshly made carrot and celery juice! I was saving it for myself but you can have it if you want Helga!" Miriam rummaged around the fridge then whirled around with a glass bottle in hand. "Helga? Helga? Where did you go?" the woman wondered out loud to the empty kitchen.

Helga wasn't in the kitchen because she had plastered herself against the wall of the hall running parallel to the kitchen. "Ma, oh man!" griped Helga. "I always knew kindness would kill me someday. Note to self. Celery equals sadism."

When Miriam went back to rummaging through the fridge, Helga tiptoed out of the house and into the backyard. Since the family had so many cars, one of them was parked not in the garage itself but on the grass beside the blistering asphalt. Helga pulled a keychain out of her pocket and used one of its keys to open the driver's door. She slid into the car but didn't put the key in the ignition. Instead she sprawled herself out on the old-styled seat. Back in the old days, even sports car might have one seat up front instead of two split, bucket seats. It made for a comfortable couch, especially if the window angled up overhead enough so that there was a nearly unobscured view of the sky above. Helga cradled her head on her arms and rested comfortably, one of her ankles crossed across the other as she looked at the tranquil, blue and white-cloud studded sky. Then she rolled down one of the car windows with a manual crank and put her head out the window as she scowled out into the yard. Some dogs and cats and a pig ran by with a noisy wail. But then they were gone and the neighborhood was silent. Helga climbed out of the car.

Swinging her arms wide at her sides, Helga wandered in the direction of Phoebe's house. Her best friend was in the living room watching T.V. Phoebe watched the television screen, enraptured by the dopey love-triangle in front of her. Phoebe blushed and flipped off the television when she abruptly realized that Helga was standing right in back of her.

"Okay Phoebes!" Helga snapped brusquely. "Enough soaps! Let's go out for a spell, shall we?"

"Er, ah… okay?" Phoebe squeaked in a small voice as she half-reached for the remote control. Perhaps she was desperate enough to watch the show that she'd defy Helga to watch it? But suspecting her thoughts, Helga grabbed the remote and tossed it somewhere far across the room.

"Come on Phoebes!" Helga demanded. Phoebe heaved a little sigh of sorrow, then smiled.

"Alright. Coming!" she chirped much more to Helga's liking. Soon the two girls stood in front of a soda machine.

"And so I said!" Helga complained loudly as Phoebe listened. "I can't eat that! I mean, come on! I hate celery! I've said it a million times and you'd think Miriam would remember by now but no, her brain's gotten even more spacier than ever. Oh well. I've got good old carbonation to fall back on. Hm? What's this? A new kind of juice?" said Helga running her finger over the dispenser's list. She scratched her chin in thought. "Oh well, I guess I'll give that one a go!" Helga chinked two quarters into the machine, pressed the dispensing button, and waited for the clang of the aluminum can hitting the dispenser's bottom. Helga fished it out of the chute.

"Hm, well looks strange, but bottom's up!" she grinned. Helga chugged the drink down in record time. But while she was drinking, Phoebe had noticed a picture on the label.

"Er Helga. Wait! I think that drink might! Ah!" Phoebe lamented as Helga wiped her lips. Phoebe pulled the empty can free from Helga's grip to examine it sadly. There was a figurine of a dancing strawberry on the can. "Contain strawberry."

"Pfft! Since when has anyone ever made juice out of real strawberries?" Helga scoffed. But her eyes grew wide as she examined the label. "Strawberry-grape juice blend? No artificial flavorings? Uh-oh! Done in by health food!" Helga sat down and stared at the can in horror.

Shortly after all this, Helga was seated in a hospital room wearing a bedgown and a heavy blanket. Out of loyalty, Phoebe was seated by her side. But Gerald, Arnold, and Harold were visiting her also. They sat in a broad circle at the edge of the room on plastic chairs. Helga was vivid red with rash but otherwise just fine.

"Oh wow, Helga!" Phoebe berated herself. "If only I had quicker, I might have stopped you! This is all my fault!"

"Nah, don't sweat it Phoebes," grinned Helga softly. "I should have known better than to experiment with fruit juices without reading the label first. It was my mistake."

"But," Phoebe mumbled with doubt. "Well, okay. If you say so Helga." At that exact moment, a nurse wheeled a cart into the room.

"Hello, Helga! I'm your nurse for this afternoon. I thought you might be hungry so I've brought your a bowl of cream of celery soup!"

"Er, did you say it has celery in it?!" Helga gasped. She pulled the bedcovers up over her nose.

"That right!" the nurse said cheerfully. As she paused the cart midway across the room, Phoebe leapt up and nudged the bowl off the cart with her elbow. The soup crashed to the floor. Phoebe sat down quickly before the nurse spun her head around.

"Oh my!" the nurse fussed. "I don't know what happened but I'll bring you another bowl!"

"No, no don't bother!" said Helga waving a hand. "Please bring me a cup of blueberry yogurt or something, will you? Or better yet some spicy chili."

"Well, alright," said the nurse. She shut the door behind her.

"Nice one Phoebes. Nice!" Helga grinned with placid delight.

"That's what friends are for!" Phoebe smiled back. A wide-eyed Arnold watched the exchange.

"Wow, Helga. I never knew you were allergic to strawberries. I'm glad you're feeling better." Helga tamped down her urge grin madly. There was a room full of people watching.

"Oh, yeah! I'm feeling loads better! So you all don't need to stay here watching me all day. Go on and enjoy your weekend. Shoo-shoo you nannies and wanna-bee-nurses!" Helga waving off her friends to shoo them away. Everyone got up to leave. Harold was the last to wander towards the door since he was heavy and slow.

"Oh, wait a minute!" Helga snapped as everyone but Harold disappeared from view. "Oh Harold! Do me a favor, pal. Come by my house tonight and pick up the script for the school play for Mr. Simmons. I won't be in to school tomorrow. Turn it in for me, will ya?"

"Bah. What's in it for me?" Harold pouted.

"One I won't remove all the stitching from your baseball glove!" said Helga. "Two, I'll give you a candy bar or something. I will haunt you if you fail, capice?"

"Yeah," Harold complained. "Bossy ol' fortress-mommy!"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. Yeash! Will it kill you do me this one little favor?" Helga glowered.

On the surface of things, Helga and Harold seemed to be at odds with one another. But both were companionable and friendly when Harold appeared at Helga's door that night. Helga held her front door open wide.

"Oh, hi Harold! Thanks for coming."

"Yeah." Harold said with a touch of embarrassment. "Here, these are for you. My mom said they'd help you get better. These are for you." Harold gave Helga a teapot and examined its contents.

"Well, I'm not sure she understands I don't have a cold but that's sweet. Thank her for me, will you Harold? Come on in. My script is on the table." Helga gestured toward a folder set beside the telephone. She picked up the folder and handed it to Harold. "Here, give this to Mr. Simmons. He wanted me to come up with a new play for us to try, so I edited an old classic. Give this to teach for me please."

"If you're feeling better, why aren't you coming to school tomorrow?" Harold said with unusually shrewd scrutiny for the boy.

"I'm taking all the time off I'm offered!" Helga barked. "Can you blame me?"

"Nah," said Harold. "So all I've gotta do is give this to Mr. Simmons?"

"Yup!" Helga clarified.

"Alright, I'll do it! Um, do you have that candy bar?" Helga rolled her eyes.

"Buy your own!" Helga said scrunching a small bill into Harold's hands.

"Alright!" Harold said. He leapt up into the air for joy then began to jog down the street. "See ya, Helga!" With the folder tucked under his arms, Harold jogged out of sight.

Soon Harold came out the Cornershop, the same store where Gerald's mother worked, munching on a candy bar. He nearly ran into Stinky and Sid on the sidewalk. Sid had a basketball under his arm.

"Hey Harold!" Sid greeted Harold. "We were just about to go play ball. Do you wanna join us?"

"Would I?" said Harold. He wiped the chocolate smears of his hands onto his clothes then wrenched the basketball out of Sid's grip. "I'll beat you guys! Ha-ha!"

Sid, Stinky, and Harold made their way to the local court. Fenced by chain-link fence on one side and the tall sides of brick buildings on others, it was naturally shaded on all side by that of the street. They all took turns running up and down the court and trying to get the ball into the hoop.

"Yeah!" Harold exalted after he nailed his latest shot. But while he had been playing basketball, the script he had been entrusted with had been torn apart by the wind. It was flying apart page by page from its precarious perch on a metal barrel. A single page began to whirl down the street, then doubled back on itself to make a circular spiral. The page flew past Harold and Stinky.

"Say, what's that?" said Stinky. Harold dropped in jaw in horror.

"Oh no!" the boy said picking up the few remaining pages that had not blown away in the wind. "Helga's play! Aw, man she's gonna kill me! I was supposed to turn it in to Mr. Simmons tomorrow!"

"Maybe not, Harold!" spun Stinky. "What if you'all wrote up one for a replacement. You've got til tomorrow."

"Bah. That'll never work!"

"Aw, come on Harold!" Sid said grinning. "Why not give it try? You can make it a western or somethin'!" said Sid swiping out his fist as if fist-fighting.

"Or a tale of espionage and foreign intrigue!" Stinky grinned as he imagined what he himself would write.

"Well, it would be more interesting if we did a class play that was an adventure story," Harold mulled. He scratched the back of his head and squinted one eye. "Well, okay! I'll do it!"

"I'll help!" volunteered Sid. "As long as I get to be the lead character."

"Nah-ah. I get to be the lead character!" Harold growled at Sid as he pointed a thumb backwards towards himself.

"Now wait a dang minute!" complained Stinky. "How come I can't be the lead character?"

"Okay, okay you guys!" said Harold shaking his hands and head. "We'll all be the lead characters. We'll all beat the bad guys together."

"Great!" Sid beamed. "Come over to my house, guys! I have a whole box of cheese crackers to share." Muttering, the three boys wandered down the street.

Faraway at his house, Arnold peered out his open window. As he stood beside his open window next to his favorite potted plant, a gust of wind cast a sheet of paper up to plaster his face. Arnold pulled the piece of paper off his nose and examined the hand-written prose. But it didn't seem to have to do anything to do with him. Arnold shrugged. Then he pulled his window shut and turned out the light. But in the gathering dusk, the light switched on in Sid's room. Harold, Stinky, and Sid all sat down in a circle on the carpet. They were serious about writing a play. Sydney the frog croaked in expectation. Could Harold really be a playwright?


	2. Chapter 2

The wind blew gustily through and open window at P.S. 188, scattering papers. Mr. Simmons, stood upright, gazed out this window a moment, considering the strength of the wind before he closed it by winding the metal crank attached the window's wooden frame. Then he scooped up his lost papers, stuffed them under a paperweight that was a rock with googly eyes pasted on it, and straightened his tie. Then the perky school teacher strode through the door to his office.

Mr. Simmons traveled to his classroom. There were quite a few faces, some new as the class had grown a tiny bit. But Mr. Simmons smiled down on them all, with one slight frown pulling his face down into a flicker of disappointment as he began rollcall.

"And Helga," Mr. Simmons read out loud. "Has anyone seen Helga?" He craned his head around. "Oh dear, oh dear," the teacher reexamined his notes. "That's right. She's out on sick-day. I'd better go back to my office to get a backup play. I was hoping we'd be able to enjoy her rendition of Greek mythology, but I guess that just isn't to be."

"Actually Mr. Simmons," the loudest boy's voice in the class interrupted. "I have Helga's play right here. She gave it to me to bring in. You know, since she's sick and all." Harold left his desk chair to walk before Mr. Simmons. Harold shifted his weight onto one toe for a bashful gesture lasting only a moment as he held a bundle of crumpled papers aloft. Perhaps it was the guilt of his lie showing. But Harold willfully gave Mr. Simmons the script he and his friends had written last night to replace the one he had lost. Mr. Simmons took the script from Harold's hand. As Mr. Simmons glanced down at it, Harold grinned a toothy, triumphant grin.

"Well… this is a very odd script coming from Helga," Mr. Simmons said. "She must really not be feeling well. But thank you Harold for bringing this to me." Mr. Simmons smiled kindly at the boy.

"You're welcome Mr. Simmons!" Harold said with excessive loudness. When the boy passed by Stinky and Sid's desks, he paused to give them a bold wink. Then Harold sat down at his desk and twiddled his thumbs, crossing his chubby ankles under the desk just too small for him. Mr. Simmons turned his back to write on the chalkboard. Then Stinky, Sid, and Harold smirked.

After lunchtime, the class moved to the school's auditorium. There, a number of the schoolkids from the entire grade had gathered. They rustled on the stage floor, as restless as pigeons on a telephone wire on a warm summer's day. Arms flapped and children shifted their weight and stances, pacing, and prowling, and exploring every nook and cranny of the stage floor. Only a few of the less athletic, like Phoebe, chose to sit on the benches and crates of the backstage. The teacher from across the hall from Arnold's classroom was there minding the crowd so that it did not turn to feuds, vandalism, or riots. Mr. Simmons arrived, too, with a stack of freshly xeroxed papers in his arms.

"Ah, Arnold?" the instructor called nervously to one of his best students. "Can I see you for a moment?" After hearing that particular plaintiff, Arnold cautiously approached. It sounded like another mishap had happened.

"Is something wrong Mr. Simmons?" the boy rightly guessed.

"Ah, Arnold!" Mr. Simmons said sending a few pages flapping. "It's about Helga's play. I don't think… well I edited it the best I could but it doesn't seem like a story about Psyche's quest to appease Aphrodite. I printed out copies of the script for us to use, but I'll really need your help Arnold to make things work. Could you please be my assistant stage manager?" Mr. Simmons didn't have long to beg.

"Augh. Okay, Mr. Simmons, I'll help," Arnold said accepting one of the scripts. The boy looked down at it thoughtfully. He squinted. "You're right Mr. Simmons. This doesn't seem to be what Helga would write."

"Course it is!" Harold spoke up from behind Arnold's shoulder. "It's good, really really good!"

Arnold rolled his eyes. Based on Harold's attitude, he could guess what Harold had done. Yet he was accommodating. "Well, I'm sure we can make the script work," Arnold said imperviously.

"Yes, but I'm afraid we won't be able to reuse the costumes from the fifth grader's production of Hercules," Mr. Simmons observed with sadness. "What will we use for costumes?"

"Oh! I already thought of that!" Harold grinned. He pulled out a brown, twin-brimmed hat with a short rim and placed it on his own head. "See? I could play Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York. I mean, I think I'd be really good at it!"

"Yeah! And I'd be really good at playing Stephen the Comeback Cowboy!" Sid threw a few air punches with emphasis.

"Yeah, and I reckon I'd all make a dang fine Zephen Stink Star, galactic super spy for the universe!" Stinky remarked with one index finger lifted to the air.

"Ah, Stinky? When did the three of you have a chance to read the script?" Mr. Simmons and Arnold exchanged glances.

"Ah, well, that was when…"

"Ah, we're busted!"

"Quiet you guys!"

"It's just that… well we never get to write a script. Helga always does it, or Leichliter, or you Mr. Simmons. So we did our thingy…"

"Harold?" Mr. Simmons interrupted the runaway train of conversation. He pointed to the page in hand. "Is this your script?"

"Well… ah sorta. Me telling you I had Helga's script was a lie, sorta. I'm sorry." Mr. Simmons peered down at the page.

"Well, Harold thank you for telling me the truth. And you're right. You haven't been given the chance to write a script, so I'll thank you for this very exciting and very unexpected contribution to the class. I'll be sure to communicate with Helga later. But for now, let's all proceed with this very exciting, very, um… UNIQUE play you've given all of us. Arnold? I'll really need your help with this one. You know what to do! Lights!" With a smile, Arnold dimmed the lights for all of the auditorium but the stage. Silence fell among the students of P.S. 11 as they waited for instruction.

Within a few days, Helga returned to school. She entered the classroom and sat down in her chair behind Arnold. She pivoted her head to look at Harold, but the boy frowned and stared down at his desk in silence. Arnold, the boy seated in the desk, just before he was equally as silent. What was going on?

"Ah, who died?" Helga whispered bluntly from behind her hand. Arnold half-turned in his chair.

"Ah, Helga?" the boy stated delicately. "Be forewarned. You've been gone a few days and the play might not exactly how you'd wanted it to be." Helga stiffened in her seat.

"Whattaya mean, Foo-ooo-otball-Head?"

"Shh, I'll tell you later!" Arnold hissed back before busying himself with a pencil. Helga gripped the edge of desk with her hands and grit her teeth. Just what had been going on while she had been absent. And what had Harold done with her script?

"Good morning class!" Mr. Simmons entered the room. "And Helga, oh you're back! I've been meaning to talk to you about something. We had to substitute your script for now. Don't worry, we can always perform the Greek play we had planned next semester."

"Huh? What's going on? Didn't Harold give you the script I gave him?" Helga sent a death glance Harold's way. Mr. Simmon's fidgeted.

"Ah, er, well circumstances being what they are made for interesting adaptations. But we'll roll with change, because we are all better than the challenges that come our way. Isn't that right, Arnold?"

"Right," Arnold gave his school teacher a passive thumbs up. Helga would be angry later. He could just tell.

Soon, all of Arnold's grade gathered in the school's auditorium again. By this time, they all had several rehearsals under their belt and costumes had been added. Mr. Simmons pulled Helga aside.

"Now Helga," the instructor began delicately. "Don't be angry, but since you've been away from school for two rehearsals, so I'll give you a free pass to sit this play out. Just sit down in the audience right over there!" Mr. Simmons smiled a cheesy, slightly unbelievable grin. Feeling dread in the pit of her stomach, Helga lowered herself into a front row seat next to some of the school's school teachers.

"Eugene? Raise the curtains please?" the boy trotted behind the curtains to do so. Miraculously, nothing bad happened as the curtains lifted to reveal the set. Helga stood up in her chair, hands clutching the crisp, hard plastic edge of the seat before her as she squinted at the stage set. Those weren't paintings of houses with Grecian columns in the background. It was a painted city filled with skyscrapers. Fake cars and people standing on the sidewalk had replaced a crowd of people wearing togas. Mouth agap, Helga slid back down onto her butt in her chair. The play opened with Gerald.

"Thank you, driver!" Gerald acknowledged his taxi driver with a nod and a fake, vividly monopoly-orange dollar bill. Then he drew up the collar of his trench coat around his neck to hurry down the street. Rhonda hailed him under a streetlamp.

"Hello, agent!" said Rhonda wearing a fancy dress. "Welcome to York. There's someone I'd like you to meet! Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York."

"Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York? He sounds totally awesome and stupendous," Gerald recited his lines faithfully though without enthusiasm. "Can you take me to him?"

"Yes," said Rhonda, spreading her arms out wide for a dramatic flourish, "for only he can SAVE THE WORLD!"

"Save the world?" quoted Gerald. "Sounds serious. But if anything's amiss, I'm sure that Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York can save the day. Let's go see him!"

"Yes, let's go see Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York!" The two walked as the scenery switched to a spacious office room, complete with red leather chair and ornate fireplace. Someone sat in the chair, turned away from the audience and toward the fire.

"Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York!" Rhonda cried. "The world is in utmost peril and jeopardy. It is in hazard even! You must save us!"

"Yes, er, Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York." Gerald paused. Repeating Harold's stage name was tiring. The arm chair before the fire slowly turned so he could see its occupant.

"Ah-ha!" Harold cried. He leapt down from the cozy cushion of the chair. A brown, felted, adventuring hat was poised at an angle on top of his head. "I am Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York! Now how may I save the world?"

"Oh, Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York! We have received word, from our most secret of sources, and most definitely not a teenage girl working the deep fryer of a fastfood restaurant, that Dr. Dread-Gym is plotting to obliterate the universe by unveiling a magical-world-destructor to modify reality and sent us all into some odd, psychedelic, four-dimensional universe. Worse, he is working with the EVIL magician, Arnaldur to raise an army of she-werebeasts. How shall we all survive this ordeal and save the world?"

"We need a car. Then we need to blow some stuff up." Harold gesticulated with his finger as he frowned. "Get me a cream soda! And then we ride!"

Gerald whipped out an entire root beer float from off a table nearby, to give to Harold. After the boy had elegantly slurped it down, he walked off the stage set of the room to the one with the packed city street. A sheet of cardboard cut out into the shape of a car pulled up. Harold got in. Then he pressed the brown fedora to the front of his forehead and leaned over the false steering wheel.

"Let's do this! Vrrrooom, vroom, vrooom, vroom!" The car then weaved back and forth to avoid an onslaught of goblins, rocket missiles, and smoke grenades. It pulled to a stop and Harold made a screeching impression of the tires that made Helga grimace. Then he, Gerald, and Rhonda got out of the vehicle. Inexplicably, confetti rained from the sky at his arrival. Then Harold strutted, cowboy style, into a saloon. The stagehands had rolled a screen painted with cacti over the city scene to blot it out. Harold was meant to have come to another place.

"Ah-ha!" Harold declared, loudly and arrogantly. "My trusty sidekick, Stephen the Comeback Cowboy, must be in that building yonder!" They trotted past some kids dressed up like ponies tied to a rail and through two swinging batwing doors.

"Ah-ha!" Sid said winning an arm wrestling match, which seemed VERY fake to Helga. Sid then stood up and swung his arms up to pose like a superhero. "It is I, Stephen, the Comeback Cowboy! Watch this! You there, yes you wearing the Dr. Dread-Gym t-shirt, the Dr. Dread-Gym baseball cap, and the the Dr. Dread-Gym logo belt! Yes, I know that you obviously work for Dr. Dread-Gym! Come here and fight!"

"Okay!" the kid wearing villain merchandise got up from his seat along with five of his fellow card players. They all rushed towards Sid only to spin and fall to the ground with fake growls of defeat.

"Arg, ahhh!" Curly, one of the fallen, twitched with extra emphasis. His dying scene went on until Mr. Simmons carried him off the stage.

"Ha, take that! Nothing can stand against the energy beam of my blazing, righteous, sunbeam fist!" Sid exclaimed. "Now, Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York, we will ride! Only some of my finest horses can cross the sands, not to mention active volcano-rifts, of this perilous and sun-blazoned wasteland, to find Dr. Dread-Gym's hideout!"

"And I, Zephen Stink Star, galactic super spy for the universe, will help you!" The boy wearing a suit took off some cool shades as he stood up from one of the few card tables not upended by Sid's brawl. "I am here to help to defeat the evil villain which we all dread and fear!"

"Zephen Stink Star, galactic super spy for the universe? What are you doing here?" Harold gasped.

"I'm Zephen Stink Star, galactic super spy for the universe! And I'm all here 'cause I knew you were comin', on account of me being a super spy and all!"

"Excellent!" Harold chortled. "No one will stop us now! To the ponies!"

"Horses," Sid corrected him, annoyed.

"I knew that," Harold ad-libbed.

The kids all got on top of stick horses, or in Rhonda's case, a stick reindeer, to ride across the desert. They galloped back and forth past the painted scenery of cactii until they all began to encounter an invisible wind resistance.

"Sandstorm!" Sid complained as someone wearing a cloud costume and holding up a beach pail threw gold glitter in their direction. Gerald, Rhonda, Sid, Stinky, and Harold all struggled to the far end of the stage. Some stagehands switched the scenery behind them again. This time, the curtain fell, then lifted to reveal a scary castle dungeon and one vast stone staircase leading to an upper floor.

"Oh! We are here! Be on your guard people!" Harold declared. Pushing his fedora back onto his forehead to look tough, Harold stomped over to a table in the center of the room to pick up a note from the center of the table. He read it. "'Gone out shopping. Be back soon.' Awwww!" Harold complained, deeply disappointed. But he needed not have been. Annoyed, but wearing a purple and gold-starred wizard's costume and matching pointed hat, Arnold stood atop the set of steps. He looked down at Harold and pointed a stick with a ruby-red, star-shape on top of it at Harold.

"Hail! Thou art here in the stronghold of the great Dr. Dread-Gym, Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York! And I will defeat you!" Arnold faithfully recited his lines, then shook his wand back and forth. "Eagle power!" Some kids flapped paper birds dangled from thin bamboo sticks around in circles. Harold, Stinky, Sid and Eugene batted them away.

"No good? Then I have no choice!" Arnold lifted his wand again. Two girls wearing t-shirts jumped out from behind the stage. The t-shirt of the first one read, "AF#1". The t-shirt of the second read "AF#2."

"Grr!" the two girls spat. But Harold sidestepped them to lock them in one of the dungeon cages.

"Ha!" said Harold. "You will never defeat Bartholomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York!"

"No, but I will!" a creepy voice sounded out. Harold and his friends gasped.

"Ah! It is the henchman defeated by Stephen, the Comeback cowboy!"

The boy in a furry brown coat cackled. "No, fools! That was my less evil, identical twin brother! I am Dr. Dread-Gym, here to incite a new world order for my own entertainment at the expense of all you peons!"

"Never!" Harold posed and made a fist. His friends followed suit. "Let's fight!"

"Very well," Curly chuckled. "Robot warriors!"

"Chu-chu-chu-chu!" Harold added his own sound effects as he pretended to kick actors wearing cardboard boxes. Then Sheena arrived, dressed as a tree. She and other dressed like flowers received the same fake attacks and accompanying "chu" sounds. Sid and Stinky play fought in their own way, adding "sproing" or "bing" here and there.

"Ah-ha, Curly, we will defeat you!"

"No you won't," snapped back Curly. He lifted his arms menacingly to the air, his hands risen as if they held a crown. All of his opponents collapsed to the ground.

"Ah, we are undone! Plain undone!" Stinky uttered with misery.

"Yeah, we're defeated! Toast!" Sid lamented, also sprawled out on the ground.

"No, you are not, for I have seen the foolishness of my ways and I will save you!" Arnold, playing Arnaldur the Wizard, waved his wand again, and Curly disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Awesome!" Harold cheered. He hefted his meaty fist in the air. "We saved the world!"

"We knew you could always do it, Barthalomew the Magnificent and Adventurous of York!" Stinky complimented him.

"Yeah, well I couldn't have done it without either of you, too, Stephen the Comeback Kid and Zephen Stink Star."

"And what are we, chopped liver?" Rhonda sniffed.

"You, Gerald, and Arnaldur all get medals. And you are now the rulers of this fortress."

"Nah-ha, I have other things to do," sniffed Rhonda.

"I need to get back to the government," said Gerald.

"And I have plans to write a book about my life experiences," said Arnold.

"Great, then if no one wants this fortress anymore, let's blow it up!" beamed Harold. The kids all ran away from the castle. It disappeared behind them as it was replaced by a green, growing field filled with cattle.

"Wow! You knew that by removing the evil of this fortress green grass would grow in instantaneously!" Gerald observed. "Genius!" Rhonda shrugged.

"Well, everyone, a day's a day! Call on me again if you need someone to save the world!" Harold said fondly to his companions.

"Will do!" Gerald promised.

"We'll never forget you!" Rhonda flirted. Then kids came out into the field to cheer and dance. The play was mercifully at its end. The curtain dropped.

"What in the name of criminy was that?!" Helga belted out. She narrowed her eyes at Harold. The boy had been enjoying his curtain call. But he gulped at Helga's rage. Shortly, after, Harold tiptoed through the hallway of the school. A finger jabbed his shoulder in a vicious tap. Terrified, Harold whirled around.

"Uh, Helga!" the boy said. "Sorry, about that! The funny thing is a kinda sorta lost your play! So, uh, you gonna remove the stitching from my baseball glove now?" Harold said, his voice falling low in surrender.

"Oh, no!" Helga leered. Arms crossed, she parked her nose in front of Harold's. "I'm gonna do something a lot worse!"

During recess the next day, Harold sat on the top of the jungle gym, a glum expression on his face. The reason for his glumness was that he was dressed in a blue, frilly frock with a Goldilocks wig and boater's cap on his head. Beside him was a brown teddy bear with a monocle stitched on next to its eye. Harold glowered. Some of the boys snickered at him from a distance. Helga stood below him in the dusty school yard, circling, the jungle gym like a lion.

"Aw. Can I come down now?" Harold pleaded. But Helga's arms remained folded tightly across her chest. She harrumphed.

"No," she spat crossly. But then the school bell rang and she huffed again, in a less irate voice.

"Alright, Harold!" Helga relented. "You can come down now!" A mute, demure Harold clambered down from the jungle gym. Helga held out her hand, flat-fisted, and Harold pulled off his wig and dress to place them in Helga's hand. But he hesitated to place the teddy bear into her second hand.

"Aw, Helga?" Harold tapped the teddy bear's head fondly with his fingertip. "I know you're angry with me and all, but Mr. Monocle and I have become really good friends! Do you suppose I can keep him?" Helga snatched the teddy bear from the Harold's grip but he teared up. Helga tossed the bear back at him.

"Fine! Suit yourself!" Helga rolled her eyes. Harold clutched the brown bear with a monocle tightly against his chest. Apparently unembarrassed by the display, Harold squeezed the toy bear tightly and nuzzled his chin against its fuzzy face with joy. The end.


End file.
